Appreciation
by blackswan22
Summary: There were many things he could appreciate about her. (Garrus and Shepard meet over the years)
1. Chapter 1

The First Time

There were many things he could appreciate about her.

Even before she'd said two words to him, it registered somewhere in the back of his mind that she didn't look at him with apprehension. Or worse, disdain (as so many humans did). In fact, she looked mildly amused as she quietly watched his exchange with Executor Pallin, and he didn't know whether he should be concerned by this or not.

Having apparently been dismissed by Pallin, he turned his attention to her. He noticed the N7 symbol on her armor, and suddenly it clicked. The small human woman in front of him was Commander Shepard. He had thought she looked familiar, but human faces were difficult for him to place, with their various shades of _flesh_ and their brightly colored _hair_.

They all looked so..._different_.

Old vids and news reports flashed through his mind; sole survivor of a brutal thresher maw attack - even the Batarian slavers who had attacked her colony couldn't beat this human into submission.

He could appreciate that.

She seemed to be hovering on the edge of introducing herself and walking straight past him, so he took his chance while he could. He knew the Council members were in session, discussing their favorite Spectre - why else would Commander Shepard be heading their way? She was involved in this somehow. The moment he mentioned his investigation into Saren, her mouth set in a thin line and the hair above her eyes - eyebrows? - drew together.

Human expressions were so complicated and varied, but apparently, grim determination translated well across species.

"Sounds like you really want to bring him down."

He did. A small voice in the back of his head (the one that usually got him into trouble) told him that he had a better chance of nailing Saren to the wall if he had Shepard's help. So he told her what he knew. Or rather, what he didn't know.

"Good luck Shepard. Maybe they'll listen to you."

The scoff from the dark-haired woman next to Shepard made him uneasy - perhaps they were caught up in red tape, too - but as he watched them walk towards the Council, he had a feeling that if _anyone_ could dig up some dirt on Saren, it would be Shepard.

He hoped he'd be there to see it.


	2. Chapter 2

The Second Time

_CRACK_

The sound of his rifle booming across the bridge had become strangely comforting. He vaguely wondered how many poor bastards were desperate enough to sign up with the Blue Suns, Blood Pack or Eclipse. Maybe they needed money to feed their families. Maybe they were just bored.

_CRACK_

Either way, it didn't matter anymore. To him, or to the countless mercs lying dead along the bridge.

_CRACK_

As another body fell in an undignified heap, he sighed and chanced a quick gulp from the foul-tasting energy drink next to him. How long had he been up here?

Too long, if what he was seeing was anything to go by.

Mercs crossing the bridge, all human, two males and one female. The men, he didn't recognise. One had a set of yellow armor, the tattoo on his neck common for Blue Suns mercenaries. The other wore black - just another freelancer? But the _woman_... He had to be hallucinating. The combination of no sleep, various stimulants, and the vile energy drinks had to be catching up with him. Sure enough, she pulled out a submachine gun and he readied his rifle...

...only for her to shoot a freelancer in green armor. Sneaky little bastard had been hiding just out of his line of vision. He felt a small twinge of annoyance for not spotting the merc first, before once again focusing his attention on the small human woman steadily making her way across the bridge.

Had he finally lost his mind? That small voice in the back of his head told him that quitting C-Sec and telling Pallin where to shove it hadn't exactly been _sane_. But he chose to ignore the voice for now. Instead, he took out a freelancer lurking in the lower area of his apartment, and turned to address the human wearing Shepard's face.

"Shepard."

Any doubts he had previously held about who she was seemed to melt away when she smiled at him, teeth bared and eyes crinkled. He knew that smile.

"Garrus! What are you doing here?"

He knew that voice. It was her alright, looking a little tired and more than a little scarred. Were those marks on her face _glowing_? He briefly wondered what the hell she'd been doing for the past two years, before deciding that it didn't matter. She was here now, she wasn't pointing a gun at him, and for the first time in _days_, he saw himself making it out of this mess in one piece.

He wanted to tell her how tired he was, how much he hated that damn gunship Tarak kept taunting him with, what Sidonis had done, how much he appreciated her _being there_...

Instead, he handed her his rifle and watched as she blew the head clean off some unsuspecting mech. He smiled.

_Just like old times_.


	3. Chapter 3

The Third Time

"Get that thing the hell off my men!"

"On it, Sir."

_Spirits_, they were relentless. In a perverse way, he almost admired how the Reapers operated. Turian soldiers knew pain, and exhaustion, and fear. The Reapers didn't.

How could you defeat an enemy like that?

He didn't know, but what he _did_ know was that standing around scratching his fringe wouldn't do him any good. General Victus had given him an order. So, he moved.

There had been very little time to _think_. To process what was happening. When the Reapers hit, they certainly didn't waste any time. He _should_ have been mourning his mother, comforting his sister, and making amends with his father. But instead he found himself on a shuttle to Menae, watching the orange glows on Palaven getting smaller and smaller as they flew to another war zone.

There was _one_ thing he had been thinking about, though.

_Shepard_. Was she even alive? They had all seen the vids from Earth, heard of the destruction, imagined the pain, and then lived it themselves when the Reapers hit Turian space. He knew that she was tough, smart, and resourceful. If anyone could survive a mess like this, it was her. She seemed born to fight these monsters from dark space, a shining beacon in a galaxy that was getting darker by the minute.

But, dammit, that little voice in the back of his head reminded him that he hadn't heard from her. Not since they parted ways on Omega, her heading for Earth on the Normandy, and him catching a ride to Palaven with some shady-looking traders. He had flashed his credit chit at them and they hadn't asked questions.

One meaningful look was all he got. A brief squeeze of her hand in his, and then she was gone. He had tried _hard_ not to watch her walking away, a dull ache settling somewhere in his chest...

An explosion, followed by a pained howl from one of his comrades, drew him back to the present. Things weren't looking good. He didn't know how much he had left to give, and it was with weary feet that he carried himself back to General Corinthus after he had cleared that area of Reaper forces. Comm chatter in his ear informed him that, following Primarch Fedorian's untimely death, someone to fill the role of Primarch was being searched for.

A soldier hurrying past him stopped to salute him before rushing away again. It seemed almost childish to think it at a time like this, with Reapers invading and his hope quickly dwindling, but he wondered distantly if his father would be proud of him.

"I need someone - I don't care who, as long as they can get us the Turian resources we need."

His heart nearly stopped. What was she _doing_ here?

And then it clicked. Trying to regain control of himself - he was Archangel, dammit, not some giddy schoolgirl - he strode up the platform to where she was talking to Corinthus.

"I'm on it, Shepard. We'll find you the Primarch."

The smile she gave him made it feel like the sun was shining on his face. Her hair was longer, tied up behind her head. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin looked pale and drawn. But he still found himself appreciating how beautiful she was to him. _Spirits_, he had missed her.

One meaningful look. A brief squeeze of her hand in his. And then it was down to business.

He wouldn't have it any other way.


	4. Chapter 4

**So, the ending of ME3 broke my heart, and the only way I could console myself was to head canon what ****_really_**** happened. This is just my interpretation, please let me know what you think! :)**

**Also, I don't think I mentioned it before, but none of the characters belong to me. I'm just borrowing them from Bioware.**

* * *

><p>The Fourth Time (Part One)<p>

He couldn't do it.

Staring at the plaque in his hands, holding it reverently as though it were a part of _her_, he came to the realization that he couldn't do it. Not yet.

"...Garrus?" A gentle hand on his arm, offering support he didn't want. Liara understood, of course, even if she wouldn't admit to it. He gently shrugged her off, turning to face the rest of the crew with a heavy sigh.

Ashley started to speak, her voice quiet and wavering. "This is hard for all of us, but her name deserves to be remembered properly with the-"

"No."

The human's dark eyebrows drew together, but he continued before she could question him.

"Putting her name on that wall is an acceptance. An acceptance that she's dead. Until I find her body, until I actually put my hands on her_ lifeless corpse_, we're assuming she's still out there somewhere. Alive."

James and Javik looked at the floor. Ashley and Tali looked at each other. Liara was the only one who spoke.

"Garrus, I- I want to believe she's still alive as much as you do, but-"

"So, believe it." His interruption was curt, his voice coming out louder than he had intended, and it made her flinch as though he had struck her.

No one would meet his eyes. He stalked past them, plaque in hand, and hit the elevator button for her cabin.

She was out there, _somewhere_, and he would find her.

* * *

><p>Ten days.<p>

Days spent calling in favors with recon teams, checking in with every hospital and clinic he could find, scouring comm channels and extranet sites for information...

They were still piecing it all together, the brightest minds in the galaxy attempting to figure out what had happened. As far as they could tell, the Crucible had emitted some kind of _pulse_, a massive blast of energy which seemed to target the Reapers directly.

All the soldiers on the ground knew was that the Brutes had stopped charging, the Banshees had stopped screaming, and the Reapers had fallen from the skies. Of course, the Geth had fallen, too. He thought of Legion, wearing a piece of N7 armor. He thought of EDI.

It was a bittersweet victory.

He heard her name _constantly_. It was cheered in bars, vids of soldiers and mercenaries drunkenly singing her praises flooding the extranet. The politicians called her a hero; her _sacrifice_ would forever be remembered as a turning point for a galaxy now in control of it's own destiny.

It _almost_ made him laugh. He could picture her face, rolling her eyes as she muttered some complaint about the Councilors...

The door to her (_their?_) cabin chiming startled him out of his thoughts, and he called for whoever it was to enter. Glancing up from where he sat at the desk, he nodded at the Asari entering the room.

"Liara. Need me for something?"

Visits from the rest of the squad were rare. They - mercifully - gave him space. Perhaps it was due to his utter refusal to accept that Shepard was dead, and that any attempt to convince him otherwise inevitably ended in an argument.

"Garrus, I think I have something. I...don't want to _assume_ anything, but-"

He was on his feet before she had finished her sentance.

"Glyph and I were looking through data feeds from my agents. They had all been informed that any information regarding Shepard's whereabouts - alive or otherwise - was to be sent straight to me."

She handed him a datapad. He distantly noticed her hands were shaking.

"This is a recording of a conversation between two human doctors. They are working at a make-shift clinic just outside of London. The area is..._very_ damaged."

He knew the type. These 'clinics' were popping up everywhere; the sheer number of wounded soldiers on Earth and the nature of their injuries meant that many people needed to be treated where they were, as soon as possible. There was simply no space left in the hospitals.

"Even my agent thought it was a long shot, but he was being treated there when he heard these doctors in the room next to him-"

He wasn't really listening. Scrolling through the datapad, he found what he was looking for and pressed play. The audio quality was poor, with rustling and footsteps in the background, but he could just about hear two male voices. One seemed nervous, excited even, while the other seemed bored and flippant.

"-can't be sure. It _looks_ like her, though."

"You can't just check her suit's ID?"

"No! It's been badly damaged and all the systems have shut down."

"So. Jane Doe, huh?"

The other doctor seemed to be getting increasingly agitated.

"Look, I _know_ this sounds nuts. I _know_ everybody thinks she's dead. But just take a look at her and tell me that she's not Commander Shepard."

The flippant doctor was quiet. Garrus held his breath.

"The bruising on her face made her virtually unrecognisable when they first brought her in. But the swelling's gone down now and I'm telling you, it's her! I'd know her face anywhere, she's been all over the news-"

"Alright! Keep your voice down. Can you imagine the hysteria if people out there thought Commander Shepard was _alive_? In our shitty little clinic, no less!"

A door slammed shut somewhere in the audio, and the recording stopped suddenly. He exhaled slowly, dropping the datapad on the desk. Liara shifted from one foot to the other, wringing her hands.

She was looking at him expectantly. "It's a slim lead, I know. But it's more than we had before."

He scarcely dared to hope.

"...You know where this clinic is?"


	5. Chapter 5

The Fourth Time (Part Two)

Liara had told the truth. London was a _wreck_.

He shouldn't have been surprised; after all, he had fought here against the Reapers and witnessed first-hand the beating the city had taken, he probably caused some of it himself (those proximity mines of his weren't exactly subtle). It was easy to ignore these things during a fight, to disregard the damage. But to see the aftermath...

Soho was _noisy_. Not so surprising. Salvage teams were rooting through burnt-out buildings, children were running through the streets, and paramedics were _everywhere_. The whole place seemed grey; the clouds, the smoke in the distance, the fine layer of ash that seemed to cover everything.

He remembered how much he hated grey.

A clap on the shoulder from James made him jump. "So, Scars. You really think she could be down here somewhere?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "It's a possibility we can't ignore."

James nodded, looking around. He looked anxious to get moving. "Alright. Well, lead the way."

He wasn't sure why the beefy Lieutenant had insisted on coming with him, but he didn't ask. He suspected that Vega had a bit of a soft spot for Shepard - 'Lola' seemed a fairly intimate nickname, after all - but for the most part, it didn't bother him. He supposed he _could_ have been jealous, but Shepard had made it clear she wanted _him_, for reasons he still couldn't quite fathom.

_"You'll never be alone..."_

Those words were on a constant loop in his mind; it was her voice urging him to push through the crowded streets of Soho in search of the back-street clinic. He was tense, every muscle in his body taut with nervous energy. He was...afraid.

_Afraid of what you might find when you get there_, that little voice in the back of his head told him.

He had learned to stop listening to that voice.

* * *

><p>If he had thought the streets were chaotic, the clinic was something else. A cacophony of sounds assaulted him as soon as he entered the run-down building. Doctors were shouting to each other from room to room and demanding more supplies. Patients were groaning and crying out in pain, and all the while various machines beeped angrily around him. It was a damn <em>mess<em>.

James was taking in his surroundings with thinly concealed disdain, although whether that was because of the noise, or the fact that people were desperate enough to be treated _here_, he couldn't tell. After a moment, he turned his attention back to Garrus.

"Looks like a receptionist over there," He nodded to a harried-looking woman sitting behind a desk; she was simultaneously typing something into her omnitool and talking in hushed tones to a fidgety doctor hovering by her side. The terminal on her desk buzzed insistently at her.

He paused, suddenly unsure of how best to proceed. Liara had informed Admiral Hackett about their suspicions that Shepard might be here, so he had contacted the clinic on their behalf. Apparently, there was still no way to conclusively determine if the injured woman _was_ Shepard, but he had ordered the clinic staff not to draw any unnecessary attention to her all the same.

Only a handful of doctors were fully aware of the situation, so he had a feeling that approaching the receptionist and asking for Shepard - in a room filled with people - might not be appropriate.

Vega sensed his hesitation. "Scars?"

"It's nothing. We should, ah...we should find the doctor who was talking in that recording." He sounded about as confident as he felt. At least Hackett had identified who the doctor was.

"OK. _No hay problema_." The Lieutenant strolled up to the reception desk, apparently attempting to look nonchalant. The woman behind it spared him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the terminal screen in front of her.

"Can I help you?"

"Hey. Yes, uh...I'm looking for Doctor Patricks? I need to talk to him about one of his patients."

"And your name, Sir?"

"Lieutenant James Vega with the Alliance Military."

_That_ got her attention. She finally looked up at him, and then over to where Garrus was standing. Comprehension dawned on her face.

"Ah. He's been expecting you, I'll send him a message. Please, have a seat."

They made their way over to a small waiting area in the corner of the room. Lots of chairs lined the walls, most of them occupied with humans. James sat down gingerly in one of the empty seats, next to a young woman cradling a baby. Garrus couldn't bring himself to join him.

This was it. There was a strange tension to the moment which he didn't like. Everyone had been so..._delicate_ with him, as though they were preparing him for the worst. What state would he find her in?

_Would_ he find her?

Almost cruelly, his mind journeyed to the times they had spent together. On the first Normandy, talking about his time at C-Sec and her training as an N7. Working with Cerberus on the SR2, her standing in the way of his rifle, _protecting_ Sidonis. One month ago, the night before they assaulted the Illusive Man's base. She had held him _so_ tightly, kissed his scars and told him, over and over, that she loved him.

That last memory made his heart clench painfully, and he was suddenly struck with the realization that he _needed _her. Physically needed her to keep him grounded and whole.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely registered the small doctor greeting them. Vega did the talking, and before he knew it, they were led down a busy corridor and up some stairs. They turned a corner and the doctor stopped suddenly outside a private room. It was being guarded by a security officer who promptly stepped aside to let them in.

He was about to reach for the door before the doctor stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"I don't want to alarm you, but you should know. The damage was...extensive. When we found her, she was unconscious. Near death. That's been part of the problem; we couldn't _ask_ her who she was, and the burns on her fingers made biometric identification impossible..."

Garrus was half-listening. _She could be on the other side of that door_.

"...but none of the others thought it was her! I told them-"

"Well, let's see if we can't solve your problem here and now. Excuse me, Doctor." He pushed past and opened the door. And...

Doctor Patricks hadn't been exaggerating. The woman lying in bed looked _broken_.

"Holy Hell..." James was apparently thinking the same thing.

Tubes and wires connected to various machines hung limply from her arms and chest. There were burns on her face, arms - everywhere, really. A large part of her hair had been shaved, and in it's place was a surgical dressing. He noticed with a jolt that where two legs should have been outlined under the sheets, one stopped just below her knee. She'd had an amputation.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He could distantly hear Vega talking to the doctor, but he didn't listen. He slowly moved towards the small human woman. He listened to her breathe, deep and even. He touched a glowing scar on her jaw.

He had always thought her scars were _beautiful_, a reminder of who she was and what she had survived. But until that moment, he had never really appreciated them.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading! :)<strong>


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